Dark Souls: Shadow of the Broken King
by Raging Cipher
Summary: Lost in the dark, in a strange land, with no hope, a woman must find a power within herself, and find a way to break a curse... Before she becomes a mindless hollow. But there are much greater forces at work in this strange land, and she finds herself trapped in a age old war that's been raging since the dawn of time.


_Dark Souls: Shadow of the Broken King._

_Light and darkness are two mysterious things. Without one, the other cannot exist, yet they cannot co-exist peacefully. Light, and Dark are constantly swimming around each other, each striking each other but never dealing a lethal blow. They're always together, yet something is always between them… A divider, a bridge that can never be crossed, a barrier that keeps them from being one and the same... Humanity._

_Light and dark alike have tried to possess humans time and time again, causing a rift between their many groups. Humans take sides, not realizing that the endless battle would be their undoing. The dark sign marks many who fall prey to both light or dark, ceasing to be a barrier, and becoming a vessel for both good and evil. The confliction inside of them drives them mad, and they're cursed with an un-death, forced to relive their horrors over… and over… until they slowly rot away in time… Hollowed. The undead of Kingrad are driven south to the dead land, where they're left to rot till the end of time._

_The old tales speak of an undead who may one day break the curse, and free humanity from their infinite loop of misery, a ruler that will rise up against all odds and banish the curse for all eternity._

…

"Yes… Yes… That is how the old stories go."

Her eyes jerked awake to the soft voice. She found herself in a small space, barely large enough to fit herself. Barely tall enough to breathe, which she was having trouble doing anyway. Between darkness and silence, she could not tell where she was, and she had no memory of how she got there. Her flesh stung, and her back ached, and every breath she took was ragged and dry.

"Oh dear… Oh my… I do believe you'll have to work your way out by yourself. Come now, it shouldn't be too difficult, most of the hard work has been done." The voice whispers above her, followed by a sickly coughing fit.

She groans and places her head back against the cold surface she was laying on. It felt like wood, but wet, and splintery… A feeling she remembered from rotten docks on a lake, from a memory she could not recall the time and place of. She pressed her knee against the top of her dark cell, and pushed hard. The wood made a crackling noise as it began to split. She could see little streams of light through the slowly widening cracks. She took a moment to breathe deeply and take in some of the cool fresh air. Her eyes watered as the chill whisked away the stale damp musk from before. Something was holding the ceiling of her cell together, and made a creaking noise as she pushed.

After several moments of this, she hears a loud pop, as the ceiling gives way, breaking into two pieces, and bathing her in eye-burningly bright moonlight. She shields her face as her eyes adjust to the brightness. When they adjust, she looks around, hoping to find the source of the soft voice from before. Nothing could be seen but tall, blackened trees. She felt a twinge of sadness at the ashen forest around her. Something about the place seemed… Wrong.

She clambers out, her legs weak and her arms aching. She gets her first look at her cell, a coffin, with no markings and nothing fancy, no charms or gifts, just a small, wooden box. This struck her as odd. Most coffins were left with coin and jewels, an ancient custom that she couldn't remember the reason for. She reached to touch the edges of the box where the bent nails had been pulled only moments ago, only to see her blood caked, rotting hand, the torn and rotten flesh on her arms a burned black and red colour that one might see on a piece of meat left over a fire for too long. Her reaction, a raspy scream, broke the silent night air like a knife through a crisp apple core, before returning to the deafening silence.

After the shock wore off, she felt nothing but terror and curiosity. She wanted to know who the voice had been. She wanted to know where she was, how she'd gotten there, and what had happened to her. She suddenly became aware of an acute burning sensation on her back, near her shoulder blade, she reached back, only to feel a burn scar in the shape of a ring. It was radiating a detectable heat, like a furnace. The dead flesh around the mark was cold and clammy.

The rags covering her weren't enough to knock the chilling breeze off of her, and soon she found herself shivering as she walked. The moonlight was barely enough to light her path, though she didn't really have one. She found herself wandering in a direction, unsure of why. The silence was terrifying, and any little noise, most of them her own, sent her running and panicking until she ran out of breath, at which point she walked again, starting the cycle over.

She walked for what seemed like hours, before coming to a stop, gazing at the sight before her. A drop off of a cliff, so far she could not see the bottom. She felt the sudden urge to jump and embrace the pitch black below, but stepped back instead, gasping for air. The dark was beginning to poison her. She could feel it running through her bones and soul, filling her head with terrible thoughts. She turned to start walking back, only to find the coffin still lain out on the ground before her, lid broken off as she'd left it.

The world felt like it was closing in on her as she tried another path. She was confused, lost, and terrified in a dark place, with no friends, and no hope. She found herself walking circles, ending up right back where she started. After a few tries of this, she falls to her knees at the foot of the coffin and begins to cry. Her hand smacks a metal object. She yelps in pain, but soon numbs it out, realizing what had caused her pain, was a small, rusted oil lamp.

Funny how such a small, seemingly ordinary thing, such as a half empty oil lamp, could bring her so much joy and hope, that she hugged the earth and thanked… something. She wasn't sure who or what she was thanking, but she didn't really care either. Then her hopes are shattered, as she realizes that she has no way to light it. She was still in the dark, and still alone, with a useless lantern. She curses the sky and holds her head in her elbows, finding no hair to pull.

"That won't…" The soft voice whispers, interrupted with a coughing fit. "Help, deary… You'll find… that this place doesn't pick favorites, and doesn't give… gifts to the weak."

She looks around for the source, confused, and sees a small woman leaning against a broken tombstone. She gives the woman a confused look, and takes a step back.

"Come now dear… I won't bite… Nyeheheh*Cough cough*" She rolls on her side and coughs up a mass of blood. "I haven't much time left, but if you wish to wander through these woods for the rest of eternity, so be it."

That was plenty of encouragement. She approached the old woman cautiously, and kneeled beside her.

"Take this, dear." The woman holds out a hand, offering a small orb of twisting fabric, a warm heat radiates from it, it gives her a strange sense of déjà vu. She takes the orb, and untangles the cloth instinctively. She feels warmth inside her grow, as the fabric slowly unwinds into a strand of cloth, then fades into a glowing powder. Suddenly her heart begins beating, she can feel her hair against her back, and her once burned hands are covered by a fair, soft flesh. She could remember a few things she couldn't before. She remembered the lake from before, where shadowed figures placed her corpse on a raft, and left it to float downstream. She remembered her red hair, and she remembered her love for forests, and best of all… She remembered her name.

"Well what is it dear? Your name?" The old woman coughed. "Beautiful young lass such as yourself must have a name to match?"

"A…Abbigail… I remember that name." Abbigail heard her own rough voice. Her throat was still sore, she couldn't recall the last time she'd had a drink.


End file.
